“Yeah, I eat chips,” said Shakespeare. “Of course I eat chips. I’m not saying I don’t eat them. I’m saying I’m not that bothered about them.”

“You said you didn’t like them,” countered Ellis-Bextor.

“Jesus, don’t take everything so literally. When I say I don’t like chips, I don’t mean I don’t like chips. I mean-”

“So what do you mean?” asked Ellis-Bextor disdainfully.

“I mean – for fuck’s sake – I mean… Okay, you were saying that I’d ask for chips like it was my favourite thing in the world. I’m saying I would never do that.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Because I’m not that bothered about chips. There’s about a million things I prefer.”

Ellis-Bextor released Shakespeare’s arm and looked skyward. She breathed heavily through her noise and opened her eyes widely in an effort to prevent the first tear from forming.

Shakespeare addressed the maitre d’. “Just tell me about the menu before we sit down,” he said. “Just name one dish. Name one thing that I can eat. Something special. Something that will convince me this is all worthwhile. Something unusual that I could never get anywhere else on earth.”

With a swoosh of his ridiculous velvet jerkin, Shakespeare whirled round and strode off along the river bank. Ellis-Bextor opted not to follow him.

After 20 minutes or so, the pasty-faced vocalist had calmed down a touch and decided to go after the bard with the intention of making peace. As she rounded a bend in the river, she was greeted by an astonishing sight.

Shakespeare was standing on two stones in the middle of the river. His lower garments were lying discarded on the riverband and he was squatting so that his testicles were being buffetted by the cool waters cascading over a higher rock behind him.

Ellis-Bextor was aghast. “What… What are you doing?” she said, barely able to form the words.

“Isn’t it obvious?” screamed Shakespeare in a deranged tone, his voice cracking with the effort of suppressing his powerful emotions. “I’m trying to give you what you want. I’m trying to improve myself. I’m trying to win your approval.”

“How?” exclaimed Ellis-Bextor in stunned incomprehension.

Shakespeare stood up and raced over to her, completely naked from the waist down.

“Quickly,” he said. “Give me your hand before they warm up. Feel how taut they are.”